The Great Big Treasury of Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Mr. Tod

I have made many books about well- The houses were not always empty when
behaved people. Now, for a change, I am Mr. Tod moved OUT; because sometimes
going to make a story about two disagree- Tommy Brock moved IN; (without asking
able people, called leave).
Tommy Brock and Tommy Brock
Mr. Tod. was a short bristly fat
Nobody could waddling person with
call Mr. Tod “nice.” a grin; he grinned all
The rabbits could over his face. He was
not bear him; they not nice in his habits.
could smell him He ate wasp nests and
half a mile off. He frogs and worms; and
was of a wandering he waddled about by
habit and he had moonlight, digging
foxy whiskers; they things up.
never knew where His clothes were
he would be next. very dirty; and as he
One day he slept in the daytime,
was living in a he always went to bed
stick- house in the coppice [grove], caus- in his boots. And the bed, which he went to
ing terror to the family of old Mr. Benjamin bed in was generally Mr. Tod’s.
Bouncer. Next day he moved into a pollard Now Tommy Brock did occasionally eat
willow near the lake, frightening the wild rabbit pie; but it was only very little young
ducks and the water rats. ones occasionally, when other food was really
In winter and early spring he might scarce. He was friendly with old Mr. Bounc-
generally be found in an earth amongst the er; they agreed in disliking the wicked otters
rocks at the top of Bull Banks, under Oat- and Mr. Tod; they often talked over that
meal Crag. painful subject.
He had half a dozen houses, but he was Old Mr. Bouncer was stricken in years.
seldom at home. He sat in the spring sunshine outside the

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 The Tale of Mr. Tod
burrow, in a muffler; smoking a pipe of rab-
bit tobacco.
He lived with his son Benjamin Bunny
and his daughter-in-law Flopsy, who had a
young family. Old Mr. Bouncer was in charge
of the family that afternoon, because Benja-
min and Flopsy had gone out.
The little rabbit babies were just old
enough to open their blue eyes and kick.
They lay in a fluffy bed of rabbit wool and
hay, in a shallow burrow, separate from the
main rabbit hole. To tell the truth—old Mr.
Bouncer had forgotten them.
He sat in the sun, and conversed cor-
dially with Tommy Brock, who was passing
through the wood with a sack and a little
spud which he used for digging, and some
mole traps. He complained bitterly about the
scarcity of pheasants’ eggs, and accused Mr.
Tod of poaching them. And the otters had
cleared off all the frogs while he was asleep in
winter—”I have not had a good square meal
for a fort- night, I am living on pig-nuts. I
shall have to turn vegetarian and eat my own
tail!” said Tommy Brock.
It was not much of a joke, but it tickled
old Mr. Bouncer; because Tommy Brock was
so fat and stumpy and grinning.
So old Mr. Bouncer laughed; and pressed
Tommy Brock to come inside, to taste a
slice of seed cake and “a glass of my daugh-
ter Flopsy’s cowslip wine.” Tommy Brock
squeezed himself into the rabbit hole with
alacrity.
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Then old Mr. Bouncer smoked another
pipe, and gave Tommy Brock a cabbage leaf
cigar which was so very strong that it made
Tommy Brock grin more than ever; and the
smoke filled the burrow. Old Mr. Bouncer
coughed and laughed; and Tommy Brock
puffed and grinned.
And Mr. Bouncer laughed and coughed,
and shut his eyes because of the cabbage
smoke.
When Flopsy and Benjamin came back
old Mr. Bouncer woke up. Tommy Brock
and all the young rabbit babies had disap-
peared!
Mr. Bouncer would not confess that he
had admitted anybody into the rabbit hole.
But the smell of badger was undeniable; and
there were round heavy footmarks in the
sand. He was in disgrace; Flopsy wrung her
ears, and slapped him.
Benjamin Bunny set off at once after
Tommy Brock.
There was not much difficulty in track-
ing him; he had left his foot-mark and gone
slowly up the winding footpath through the
wood. Here he had rooted up the moss and
wood sorrel. There he had dug quite a deep
hole for dog darnel; and had set a mole trap.
A little stream crossed the way. Benjamin
skipped lightly over dry-foot; the badger’s
heavy steps showed plainly in the mud.
The path led to a part of the thicket
where the trees had been cleared; there were
leafy oak stumps, and a sea of blue hyacinths
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
—but the smell that made Benjamin stop
was NOT the smell of flowers!
Mr. Tod’s stick house was before him;
and, for once, Mr. Tod was at home. There
was not only a foxy flavor in proof of it—
there was smoke coming out of the broken
pail that served as a chimney.
Benjamin Bunny sat up, staring, his
whiskers twitched. Inside the stick house
somebody dropped a plate, and said some-
thing. Benjamin stamped his foot, and bolt-
ed.
He never stopped till he came to the
other side of the wood. Apparently Tommy
Brock had turned the same way. Upon the
top of the wall there were again the marks
of badger; and some ravellings of a sack had
caught on a briar.
Benjamin climbed over the wall, into a
meadow. He found another mole trap newly
set; he was still upon the track of Tommy
Brock. It was getting late in the afternoon.
Other rabbits were coming out to enjoy the
evening air. One of them in a blue coat, by
himself, was busily hunting for dandelions.—
“Cousin Peter! Peter Rabbit, Peter Rabbit!”
shouted Benjamin Bunny.
The blue-coated rabbit sat up with
pricked ears—“Whatever is the matter,
Cousin Benjamin? Is it a cat? Or John Stoat
Ferret?”
“No, no, no! He’s bagged my family—
Tommy Brock—in a sack —have you seen
him?”
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“Tommy Brock? how many, Cousin
Benjamin?”
“Seven, Cousin Peter, and all of them
twins! Did he come this way? Please tell me
quick!”
“Yes, yes; not ten minutes since ... he
said they were CATERPILLARS; I did think
they were kicking rather hard, for caterpil-
lars.”
“Which way? which way has he gone,
Cousin Peter?”
“He had a sack with something live in
it; I watched him set a mole trap. Let me use
my mind, Cousin Benjamin; tell me from the
beginning,” Benjamin did so.
“My Uncle Bouncer has displayed a lam-
entable want of discretion for his years;” said
Peter reflectively, “but there are two hopeful
circumstances. Your family is alive and kick-
ing; and Tommy Brock has had refreshments.
He will probably go to sleep, and keep them
for breakfast.”
“Which way?”
“Cousin Benjamin, compose yourself. I
know very well which way. Because Mr. Tod
was at home in the stick house he has gone
to Mr. Tod’s other house, at the top of Bull
Banks. I partly know, because he offered to
leave any message at Sister Cottontail’s; he
said he would be passing.” (Cottontail had
married a black rabbit, and gone to live on
the hill.)
Peter hid his dandelions, and accom-
panied the afflicted parent, who was all of
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
atwitter. They crossed several fields and began
to climb the hill; the tracks of Tommy Brock
were plainly to be seen. He seemed to have
put down the sack every dozen yards, to rest.
“He must be very puffed; we are close
behind him, by the scent. What a nasty per-
son!” said Peter.
The sunshine was still warm and slanting
on the hill pastures. Half way up, Cottontail
was sitting in her doorway, with four or five
half- grown little rabbits playing about her;
one black and the others brown.
Cottontail had seen Tommy Brock pass-
ing in the distance. Asked whether her hus-
band was at home she replied that Tommy
Brock had rested twice while she watched
him.
He had nodded, and pointed to the sack,
and seemed doubled up with laughing.—
“Come away, Peter; he will be cooking them;
come quicker!” said Benjamin Bunny.
They climbed up and up;—“He was at
home; I saw his black ears peeping out of the
hole.”
“They live too near the rocks to quar-
rel with their neighbors. Come on, Cousin
Benjamin!”
When they came near the wood at the
top of Bull Banks, they went cautiously. The
trees grew amongst heaped up rocks; and
there, beneath a crag, Mr. Tod had made
one of his homes. It was at the top of a steep
bank; the rocks and bushes overhung it. The
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rabbits crept up carefully, listening and peep-
ing.
This house was something between a
cave, a prison, and a tumbledown pigsty.
There was a strong door, which was shut and
locked.
The setting sun made the window panes
glow like red flame; but the kitchen fire was
not alight. It was neatly laid with dry sticks,
as the rabbits could see, when they peeped
through the window.
Benjamin sighed with relief.
But there were preparations upon the
kitchen table which made him shudder.
There was an immense empty pie dish of
blue willow pattern, and a large carving knife
and fork, and a chopper.
At the other end of the table was a partly
unfolded tablecloth, a plate, a tumbler, a
knife and fork, saltcellar, mustard and a
chair— in short, preparations for one per-
son’s supper.
No person was to be seen, and no young
rabbits. The kitchen was empty and silent;
the clock had run down. Peter and Benjamin
flattened their noses against the window, and
stared into the dusk.
Then they scrambled round the rocks
to the other side of the house. It was damp
and smelly, and over-grown with thorns and
briars.
The rabbits shivered in their shoes.
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
“Oh my poor rabbit babies! What a
dreadful place; I shall never see them again!”
sighed Benjamin.
They crept up to the bedroom window.
It was closed and bolted like the kitchen. But
there were signs that this window had been
recently open; the cobwebs were disturbed,
and there were fresh dirty footmarks upon
the windowsill.
The room inside was so dark that at first
they could make out nothing; but they could
hear a noise—a slow deep regular snoring
grunt. And as their eyes became accustomed
to the darkness, they perceived that some-
body was asleep on Mr. Tod’s bed, curled up
under the blanket.—“He has gone to bed in
his boots,” whispered Peter.
Benjamin, who was all of atwitter, pulled
Peter off the windowsill.
Tommy Brock’s snores continued, grunty
and regular from Mr. Tod’s bed. Nothing
could be seen of the young family.
The sun had set; an owl began to hoot
in the wood. There were many unpleasant
things lying about that had much better
have been buried; rabbit bones and skulls,
and chickens’ legs and other horrors. It was a
shocking place, and very dark.
They went back to the front of the
house, and tried in every way to move the
bolt of the kitchen window. They tried to
push up a rusty nail between the window
sashes; but it was of no use, especially with-
out a light.
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They sat side by side outside the window,
whispering and listening.
In half an hour the moon rose over the
wood. It shone full and clear and cold, upon
the house, amongst the rocks, and in at
the kitchen window. But alas, no little rab-
bit babies were to be seen! The moonbeams
twinkled on the carving knife and the pie
dish, and made a path of brightness across
the dirty floor.
The light showed a little door in a wall
beside the kitchen fireplace —a little iron
door belonging to a brick oven of that old-
fashioned sort that used to be heated with
faggots of wood.
And presently at the same moment Peter
and Benjamin noticed that whenever they
shook the window the little door opposite
shook in answer. The young family were
alive; shut up in the oven!
Benjamin was so excited that it was
a mercy he did not awake Tommy Brock,
whose snores continued solemnly in Mr.
Tod’s bed.
But there really was not very much com-
fort in the discovery. They could not open
the window; and although the young family
was alive the little rabbits were quite inca-
pable of letting themselves out; they were not
old enough to crawl.
After much whispering, Peter and Ben-
jamin decided to dig a tunnel. They began to
burrow a yard or two lower down the bank.
They hoped that they might be able to work
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
between the large stones under the house; the
kitchen floor was so dirty that it was impos-
sible to say whether it was made of earth or
flags.
They dug and dug for hours. They could
not tunnel straight on account of stones;
but by the end of the night they were under
the kitchen floor. Benjamin was on his back
scratching upwards. Peter’s claws were worn
down; he was outside the tunnel, shuffling
sand away. He called out that it was morn-
ing—sunrise; and that the jays were making a
noise down below in the woods.
Benjamin Bunny came out of the dark
tunnel shaking the sand from his ears; he
cleaned his face with his paws. Every minute
the sun shone warmer on the top of the hill.
In the valley there was a sea of white mist,
with golden tops of trees showing through.
Again from the fields down below in the
mist there came the angry cry of a jay, fol-
lowed by the sharp yelping bark of a fox!
Then those two rabbits lost their heads
completely. They did the most foolish thing
that they could have done. They rushed into
their short new tunnel, and hid themselves
at the top end of it, under Mr. Tod’s kitchen
floor.
Mr. Tod was coming up Bull Banks, and
he was in the very worst of tempers. First he
had been upset by breaking the plate. It was
his own fault; but it was a china plate, the last
of the dinner service that had belonged to his
grandmother, old Vixen Tod. Then the midg-
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es had been very bad. And he had failed to
catch a hen pheasant on her nest; and it had
contained only five eggs, two of them addled.
Mr. Tod had had an unsatisfactory night.
As usual, when out of humor, he de-
termined to move house. First he tried the
pollard willow, but it was damp; and the ot-
ters had left a dead fish near it. Mr. Tod likes
nobody’s leavings but his own.
He made his way up the hill; his temper
was not improved by noticing unmistakable
marks of badger. No one else grubs up the
moss so wantonly as Tommy Brock.
Mr. Tod slapped his stick upon the earth
and fumed; he guessed where Tommy Brock
had gone to. He was further annoyed by the
jay bird, which followed him persistently. It
flew from tree to tree and scolded, warning
every rabbit within hearing that either a cat
or a fox was coming up the plantation. Once
when it flew screaming over his head Mr. Tod
snapped at it, and barked.
He approached his house very carefully,
with a large rusty key. He sniffed and his
whiskers bristled.
The house was locked up, but Mr. Tod
had his doubts whether it was empty. He
turned the rusty key in the lock; the rabbits
below could hear it. Mr. Tod opened the
door cautiously and went in.
The sight that met Mr. Tod’s eyes in Mr.
Tod’s kitchen made Mr. Tod furious. There
was Mr. Tod’s chair, and Mr. Tod’s pie dish,
and his knife and fork and mustard and salt
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
cellar, and his tablecloth, that he had left
folded up in the dresser —all set out for sup-
per (or breakfast) —without doubt for that
odious Tommy Brock.
There was a smell of fresh earth and dirty
badger, which fortunately overpowered all
smell of rabbit.
But what absorbed Mr. Tod’s atten-
tion was a noise, a deep slow regular snoring
grunting noise, coming from his own bed.
He peeped through the hinges of the
half-open bedroom door. Then he turned and
came out of the house in a hurry. His whis-
kers bristled and his coat collar stood on end
with rage.
For the next twenty minutes Mr. Tod
kept creeping cautiously into the house, and
retreating hurriedly out again. By degrees
he ventured further in—right into the bed-
room. When he was outside the house, he
scratched up the earth with fury. But when
he was inside —he did not like the look of
Tommy Brock’s teeth.
He was lying on his back with his mouth
open, grinning from ear to ear. He snored
peacefully and regularly; but one eye was not
perfectly shut.
Mr. Tod came in and out of the bed-
room. Twice he brought in his walking stick,
and once he brought in the coalscuttle. But
he thought better of it, and took them away.
When he came back after removing the
coalscuttle, Tommy Brock was lying a little
more sideways; but he seemed even sounder
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asleep. He was an incurably indolent person;
he was not in the least afraid of Mr. Tod;
he was simply too lazy and comfortable to
move.
Mr. Tod came back yet again into the
bedroom with a clothes line. He stood a
minute watching Tommy Brock and listening
attentively to the snores. They were very loud
indeed, but seemed quite natural.
Mr. Tod turned his back towards the
bed, and undid the window. It creaked; he
turned round with a jump. Tommy Brock,
who had opened one eye—shut it hastily.
The snores continued.
Mr. Tod’s proceedings were peculiar, and
rather difficult (because the bed was between
the window and the door of the bedroom).
He opened the window a little way, and
pushed out the greater part of the clothes-
line on to the window-sill. The rest of the
line, with a hook at the end, remained in his
hand.
Tommy Brock snored conscientiously.
Mr. Tod stood and looked at him for a min-
ute; then he left the room again.
Tommy Brock opened both eyes, and
looked at the rope and grinned. There was
a noise outside the window. Tommy Brock
shut his eyes in a hurry.
Mr. Tod had gone out at the front door,
and round to the back of the house. On the
way, he stumbled over the rabbit burrow.
If he had had any idea who was inside it he
would have pulled them out quickly.
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
His foot went through the tunnel nearly
upon the top of Peter Rabbit and Benjamin;
but, fortunately, he thought that it was some
more of Tommy Brock’s work.
He took up the coil of line from the sill,
listened for a moment, and then tied the rope
to a tree.
Tommy Brock watched him with one
eye, through the window. He was puzzled.
Mr. Tod fetched a large heavy pailful of
water from the spring, and staggered with it
through the kitchen into his bedroom.
Tommy Brock snored industriously, with
rather a snort.
Mr. Tod put down the pail beside
the bed, took up the end of rope with the
hook—hesitated, and looked at Tommy
Brock. The snores were almost apoplectic;
but the grin was not quite so big.
Mr. Tod gingerly mounted a chair by the
head of the bedstead. His legs were danger-
ously near to Tommy Brock’s teeth.
He reached up and put the end of rope,
with the hook, over the head of the tester
bed, where the curtains ought to hang.
(Mr. Tod’s curtains were folded up, and
put away, owing to the house being unoccu-
pied. So was the counterpane. Tommy Brock
was covered with a blanket only.) Mr. Tod
standing on the unsteady chair looked down
upon him attentively; he really was a first
prize sound sleeper!
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It seemed as though nothing would
waken him—not even the flapping rope
across the bed.
Mr. Tod descended safely from the chair,
and endeavored to get up again with the
pail of water. He intended to hang it from
the hook, dangling over the head of Tommy
Brock, in order to make a sort of shower-
bath, worked by a string, through the win-
dow.
But, naturally, being a thin- legged
person (though vindictive and sandy whis-
kered)—he was quite unable to lift the heavy
weight to the level of the hook and rope. He
very nearly overbalanced himself.
The snores became more and more
apoplectic. One of Tommy Brock’s hind legs
twitched under the blanket, but still he slept
on peacefully.
Mr. Tod and the pail descended from the
chair without accident. After considerable
thought, he emptied the water into a wash
basin and jug. The empty pail was not too
heavy for him; he slung it up wobbling over
the head of Tommy Brock.
Surely there never was such a sleeper!
Mr. Tod got up and down, down and up on
the chair.
As he could not lift the whole pailful of
water at once he fetched a milk jug and la-
dled quarts of water into the pail by degrees.
The pail got fuller and fuller, and swung like
a pendulum. Occasionally a drop splashed
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
over; but still Tommy Brock snored regularly
and never moved,—except in one eye.
At last Mr. Tod’s preparations were com-
plete. The pail was full of water; the rope was
tightly strained over the top of the bed, and
across the windowsill to the tree outside.
“It will make a great mess in my bed-
room; but I could never sleep in that bed
again without a spring cleaning of some sort,”
said Mr. Tod.
Mr. Tod took a last look at the badger
and softly left the room. He went out of the
house, shutting the front door. The rabbits
heard his footsteps over the tunnel.
He ran round behind the house, intend-
ing to undo the rope in order to let fall the
pailful of water upon Tommy Brock—
“I will wake him up with an unpleasant
surprise,” said Mr. Tod.
The moment he had gone, Tommy
Brock got up in a hurry; he rolled Mr. Tod’s
dressing-gown into a bundle, put it into
the bed beneath the pail of water instead of
himself, and left the room also— grinning
immensely.
He went into the kitchen, lighted the fire
and boiled the kettle; for the moment he did
not trouble himself to cook the baby rabbits.
When Mr. Tod got to the tree, he found
that the weight and strain had dragged the
knot so tight that it was past untying. He was
obliged to gnaw it with his teeth. He chewed
and gnawed for more than twenty minutes.
At last the rope gave way with such a sudden
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jerk that it nearly pulled his teeth out, and
quite knocked him over backwards.
Inside the house there was a great crash
and splash, and the noise of a pail rolling
over and over.
But no screams. Mr. Tod was mystified;
he sat quite still, and listened attentively.
Then he peeped in at the window. The wa-
ter was dripping from the bed, the pail had
rolled into a corner.
In the middle of the bed, under the
blanket, was a wet SOMETHING —much
flattened in the middle, where the pail had
caught it (as it were across the tummy). Its
head was covered by the wet blanket, and it
was NOT SNORING ANY LONGER.
There was nothing stirring, and no
sound except the drip, drop, drop, drip, of
water trickling from the mattress.
Mr. Tod watched it for half an hour; his
eyes glistened.
Then he cut a caper, and became so bold
that he even tapped at the window; but the
bundle never moved.
Yes—there was no doubt about it—it
had turned out even better than he had
planned; the pail had hit poor old Tommy
Brock, and killed him dead!
“I will bury that nasty person in the
hole, which he has dug. I will bring my bed-
ding out, and dry it in the sun,” said Mr.
Tod.
“I will wash the tablecloth and spread
it on the grass in the sun to bleach. And the
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
blanket must be hung up in the wind; and
the bed must be thoroughly disinfected, and
aired with a warming-pan; and warmed with
a hot water bottle.”
“I will get soft soap, and monkey soap,
and all sorts of soap; and soda and scrubbing
brushes; and Persian powder; and carbolic to
remove the smell. I must have a disinfecting.
Perhaps I may have to burn sulphur.”
He hurried round the house to get a
shovel from the kitchen— “First I will ar-
range the hole—then I will drag out that
person in the blanket. . . .”
He opened the door. . . .
Tommy Brock was sitting at Mr. Tod’s
kitchen table, pouring out tea from Mr. Tod’s
teapot into Mr. Tod’s teacup. He was quite
dry himself and grinning; and he threw the
cup of scalding tea all over Mr. Tod.
Then Mr. Tod rushed upon Tommy
Brock, and Tommy Brock grappled with Mr.
Tod amongst the broken crockery, and there
was a terrific battle all over the kitchen. To
the rabbits underneath it sounded as if the
floor would give way at each crash of falling
furniture.
They crept out of their tunnel, and hung
about amongst the rocks and bushes, listen-
ing anxiously.
Inside the house the racket was fearful.
The rabbit babies in the oven woke up trem-
bling; perhaps it was fortunate they were shut
up inside.
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Everything was upset except the kitchen
table.
And everything was broken, except the
mantelpiece and the kitchen fender. The
crockery was smashed to atoms.
The chairs were broken, and the window,
and the clock fell with a crash, and there
were handfuls of Mr. Tod’s sandy whiskers.
The vases fell off the mantelpiece, the
canisters fell off the shelf; the kettle fell off
the hob. Tommy Brock put his foot in a jar
of raspberry jam.
And the boiling water out of the kettle
fell upon the tail of Mr. Tod.
When the kettle fell, Tommy Brock,
who was still grinning, happened to be up-
permost; and he rolled Mr. Tod over and over
like a log, out at the door.
Then the snarling and worrying went on
outside; and they rolled over the bank, and
down hill, bumping over the rocks. There
will never be any love lost between Tommy
Brock and Mr. Tod.
As soon as the coast was clear, Peter
Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny came out of the
bushes.
“Now for it! Run in, Cousin Benjamin!
Run in and get them! while I watch the
door.”
But Benjamin was frightened—
“Oh; oh! They are coming back!”
“No they are not.”
“Yes they are!”
 The Tale of Mr. Tod
“What dreadful bad language! I think
they have fallen down the stone quarry.”
Still Benjamin hesitated, and Peter kept
pushing him—
“Be quick, it’s all right. Shut the oven
door, Cousin Benjamin, so that he won’t miss
them.”
Decidedly there were lively doings in Mr.
Tod’s kitchen!
At home in the rabbit hole, things had
not been quite comfortable.
After quarreling at supper, Flopsy and
old Mr. Bouncer had passed a sleepless night,
and quarreled again at breakfast. Old Mr.
Bouncer could no longer deny that he had
invited company into the rabbit hole; but he
refused to reply to the questions and re-
proaches of Flopsy. The day passed heavily.
Old Mr. Bouncer, very sulky, was hud-
dled up in a corner, barricaded with a chair.
Flopsy had taken away his pipe and hidden
the tobacco. She had been having a com-
plete turn out and spring cleaning, to relieve
her feelings. She had just finished. Old Mr.
Bouncer, behind his chair, was wondering
anxiously what she would do next.
In Mr. Tod’s kitchen, amidst the wreck-
age, Benjamin Bunny picked his way to the
oven nervously, through a thick cloud of
dust. He opened the oven door, felt inside,
and found something warm and wriggling.
He lifted it out carefully, and rejoined Peter
Rabbit.
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“I’ve got them! Can we get away? Shall
we hide, Cousin Peter?”
Peter pricked his ears; distant sounds of
fighting still echoed in the wood.
Five minutes afterwards two breath-
less rabbits came scuttering away down Bull
Banks, half carrying, half dragging a sack be-
tween them, bumpetty bump over the grass.
They reached home safely, and burst into the
rabbit hole.
Great was old Mr. Bouncer’s relief and
Flopsy’s joy when Peter and Benjamin arrived
in triumph with the young family. The rabbit
babies were rather tumbled and very hun-
gry; they were fed and put to bed. They soon
recovered.
A new long pipe and a fresh supply of
rabbit tobacco was presented to Mr. Bouncer.
He was rather upon his dignity; but he ac-
cepted.
Old Mr. Bouncer was forgiven, and they
all had dinner. Then Peter and Benjamin told
their story—but they had not waited long
enough to be able to tell the end of the battle
between Tommy Brock and Mr. Tod.